Reconciling
by AttorneyHold
Summary: 27. A being born in a laboratory. A child with vitiated hands. Through a twisted and unexpected turn of events, 27 killed the men who took everything away from him. Now free from the shackles that bounded him, 27 must now come to terms with another terrible revelation. One that he fears might be far more morbid than the cruel experiments withheld in the sterile laboratory's walls.
1. Chapter 1

' _Tis calm indeed! So calm, that it disturbs  
And vexes mediation with its strange  
And extreme silentness. _

Samuel Taylor Coleridgde, _Frost at Midnight_

PROLOGUE

" _DO YOU HAVE EVERYTHING_ ready?" Somewhere in Venice, within an enclosed and dense forest, stood a man, a sword stripped to his back and a scar marring down his perfect features. The trees ruffled his neatly trimmed hair, giving him a dark and foreboding look. The few rows of his suit were unbuttoned and undone, showing off a well-built and toned chest.

There were a few rustling heard in the bushes, but eventually, a tall, grey-haired man graciously emerged from the shadows, cigarette casually hanging in a scowling mouth. "Did you really have to fucking call me all the way here from town? Do you have the slightest _clue_ in how extremely fucking _difficult_ it was to trudge all the way here on foot?" He huffed, furrowed his eyebrows at the lack of response, and slowly fished out something from his pocket and lit another joint; puffing a few smokes out of his nostrils.

His friend frowned at this and discreetly swatted away the pollution coming out from the grey-haired man's mouth. "Hayato, you _know_ how important this is to us." He gave him a hard look. "If you actually aren't as solemn as I thought you were, it'd be best for all of us if you just leave." The grey-haired man paused, eyes flickering over to the raven-haired man in disbelief; then, in a matter of seconds, he had the latter slammed against the wall, sneering.

"Don't you fucking _dare_ tell me what to do, you fucking bastard," he snarled. "I _know_ how important this is to us. So the next time you try getting rid of me, I'll shove a dynamite down your damn throat to make you shut the hell up." They both remained quiet at this declaration, a heavy veil of silence engulfing them.

Then, the raven-haired man laughed and shrugged the arm off. "Of course, of course, how could I possibly have thought otherwise?" He tossed Hayato a thin smile. "And it's _Takeshi_ to you, not bastard."

Hayato gave Takeshi a look that you would give a retarded fool and shrugged. He lit another joint. "Like I would call an idiot by his given name... "

Takeshi smiled. "Well, _he_ used to do it."

Pause. Everything suddenly turned still.

And still was never a good thing. _Never._ Not when it was about them. When it was about Vongola.

About _him._

Hayato stopped smoking and Takeshi takes a step back, head lowering down and regretting the words the instant they came out of his mouth. The world seemed to have caved in on itself.

Hayato turned to look at Takeshi, face unreadable. "Do... do you really think we could get him back?" His voice was uncharacteristically small, and very, _very,_ unheard of. It was a sign of vulnurability, and Takeshi didn't know how to handle that. Not when his partner so rarely showed weakness.

Gokudera folded his arms neatly across his chest, fists curling around his joint in a tight hold.

Takeshi stared at him for a while, contemplating, before turning his head away, avoiding eye contact. "I don't know," he replied tentatively.

In lieu of a reply, Hayato scowled and threw the cigarette to the ground, twisting it with his polished shoe. "If you don't know," he growled, glaring, "then don't bother answering." He turned on his heels and left without saying another word.

Takeshi released a breath of resignation and racked a hand through his black locks. He should've known better than to call Hayato all the way from town, but he desperately needed information, one that his companion didn't seem willing enough to give.

"None of us know, Hayato." He turned his head to miserably look at the darkening sky; thunder seemed to roll in behind a condensed bank of cloud. It's a sign that it was going to rain soon. "None of us know."

 **ONE**

It was dark and eerie inside the tiny cell - and every now and then, a vague beam of moonlight would pour through the cracks of the wall. The ramparts were dour and covered in cobwebs, every nook and cranny eroded and timeworn, basically giving the small space a very uncanny look.

The only sound I heard was the dripping of water from one of the gaping cracks of the cavern-like walls, the dull pit-pat sound of raindrops resounding through thick walls and the whimpering of the other children as they fumble with the shackles that bounded them to this hellhole. The youngest of them let out a startlingly loud wail, big fat tears rolling off their face as the elder rubbed shaking and comforting circles around his back, whispering reassuring lies into his ear.

The other new experiments came in about a month ago, but now they had bandages loosely wrapped around their cranium, crimson blood seeping through the whiteness of the damped cloth. The reluctant ones were thinner and soulless and their skulls were chipped off, dead, a reminder to the newer ones that this was the end result to children who don't listen. Who don't obey. Only seven of them remained; the others had died within a week. Their bodies dumped down the moors.

The child beside me played with the dirt, drawing stick figurines that resembled what might've once been his family. He's young; _far_ too young to be here.

But then again, what else is new?

Rough footsteps came blaring across the left corridor, sending shockwaves of dread climbing up and down each child's spine.

"Alright, listen here you brats!" Swinging the prison door open, a stubbly man came strolling through the door, looking extremely worse for wear. His accent was thick, an inflection that belonged somewhere in the far north maybe; Scotland? I don't know; I've never been there myself. He looked like he belonged to a carnival, or, more befittingly, a circus. His moustache practically reached his stomach, and it was singed on the end, and unstylishly curly, a dull brown of sort. The children stilled.

He looked around the room, scanning the perimeter, as if bored. "The boss wants one of you to come to the laboratory; didn't tell me which one though, so I'll just pick whoever. You all best behave yourselves!" The new children let out a stifled scream. I tried distinguishing what was going through their heads; with the bandages and the bloodied and soulless body, it was quite obvious that they knew that they were the guinea pigs for the actions taking place in this facility. Their fear was evident on their face.

The man turned to look around the room and circled smoothly around each child, a ferocious grin curling around his lips in some kind of twisted satisfaction as the children continued their silent crying.

Then, his eyes met mine.

"27," he called, reading the mark on my neck. The number rolled off oddly on his tongue, as if spoken in an alien language.

I stood obediently.

"Yes," I replied. The children looked at me fearfully, as if they were afraid whatever would happen to me, the results would also reflect on them.

He motioned for me to come closer, so I followed suit. The hold he had around my hair didn't feel as painful as it probably should've. "Today is your lucky day," he said, grinning. His breath smelt of alcohol and something else; a ghastly odor that hung between the two of us.

I dimly noted in how the bounds around my feet were set loose, but my hands were still bounded by the metal shackles. An angry red blossomed on my too-pale skin, wrapping around my thin legs like a scar. He smiled knowingly at me, as if expecting gratitude. His fingers lingered on my leg a little too close to my thighs for comfort. "Come along now then." He jolted me, shoving me towards the exit of the cell.

Out of nowhere, one of the children shot upwards with such speed, the others' didn't notice him but of a scant second later, when he was running towards the agape door. The man holding my wrists stood suspiciously still, watching uncaringly as one of the facility's precious experiments try and make a run for it.

Instead of encouraging his efforts, I shot him a dull glare.

 _Turn around_ , I urged. He continued for his little escapade, his eyes lighting up with hope.

 _Turn around_ , I urged again. The man beside me yawned and lazily fingered the pistol strapped to his side. This boy didn't know what dangers awaited him if he doesn't stop his thoughtless efforts in escaping.

"Turn around.. " I whispered, but it was far too quiet, a clamor of words lost to the wind, and I watched, expecting the inevitable as the child paused midway to the entrance and cry out in sheer agony as one of his legs got shot, blood seeping out profusely from the bullet wound. His eyes blazed with such astonishing pain that I had to avert my eyes elsewhere, forcing myself to be ignorant. It was the same routine everyday: the heartless beating of the disobedient, the lectures, the trauma, and the uncountable experimentations.

Witnessing another's suffering would always leave an aching hole throbbing in my chest, regardless of my efforts into trying to be unaware, to be insensible. It forced me to acknowledge the fact that this world was twisted, that these children were no better than guinea pigs.

The man whistled and tucked the gun back to its holster. "Whoa, he almost made it through, didn't he?" He laughed, a dry, rusting sort of sound, and shook his head, as if he was actually expecting us to whoop and applaud the scene, and took four long strides towards the bleeding body, stepping on the injured leg and twisting it with his shoe, eyes shining with joy from the pained reaction he got. "Listen here you little shit... " he trailed as he kicked the boy's face. A few rows of his teeth got knocked out. I noticed this all, even if I didn't want too.

"Nobody can escape this place," he whispered – almost delicately, almost gently – into the shaking child's ear. "This is your home now, _we_ are your family. Be glad that you're still alive." He kicked the body towards the wall and the boy stopped struggling, the will to fight back seemingly leaving his tiny form as he fell down the ground with a dismal thump.

I noted that he was the child who drew the stick figures of his family. He must be one of the seven to still be alive.

He turned to look at the shaking figures of the children who had witnessed the entire thing. "Be glad that you're _all_ still alive." The children muffled another scream. The eldest child hugged her brother tighter to her chest, preventing him from seeing the bruised and possibly dead body of the young boy.

The man turned to me next, smiling amusingly at my obedience. "You've been here the longest, eh?" He grabbed my wrist, pulling it towards his face as he studied it with a malicious glint within his murky orbs. "Then you'll surely enjoy what the boss will do to you up there in the laboratory." He grinned.

 _Oh, I know_ , I thought as he tugged me towards the blinding entry. _I know everything that you do, and you sick bastards are going to burn in hell for all the nonsensical bullshit you guys attempt to force onto these kids_. I could feel it in my bones. These inhuman experimentations, the uncountable bodies rotting away in the moors, left nothing as foxes and jackals make their meals out of the entrails and intestines of the failed experiments... But what could _I_ do in such an impossible situation that I have no control over? I feel sorry for them, but that's as far as my interest goes.

"You look pretty good for an experiment," the man beside me said, alerting me back to reality. "Why don't you and I head for my room later on this evening and have a little fun?" He winked at me. My stomach churned with repulsion.

Instead of shooting down his offer, I gave a sullied nod.

He grinned and let his fingers trail behind the small of my back for a brief moment. Only for a moment though, because someone else came into view, the whiteness of their lab coat nearly blinding me. The doctors really do like their color – never mind the fact that white wasn't a color at all. The added presence of another didn't really ease down my nerves, if anything, the white lab coat made my stomach stir more in uneasiness.

"27." He nodded at me in acknowledgment, before turning his gaze over to the obese man beside me in approval. "You chose well, Adam."

Adam belched and laughed. "Of course I chose well!" He patted my head like he was praising me for a job well done. "This kid here followed suit without a single peep coming out from his mouth."

The doctor nodded and smiled thinly. Adam's disheveled and ugly demeanor seemed to bother him greatly. "I know." He took my shackle bound wrist, and with a swift tug, the metal bounds fell to the ground with a dull thump. Adam stepped back and did a double take of the situation, eyes rounding with disbelief.

"Ready for today's experimentation, 27?" he asked, smiling warmly.

I nodded. His smile grew.

He ushered me into the spiral steps, his expression easygoing and warm as he casually dismissed Adam with the flick of his wrist.

We continued our way, the coldness of the marble tile hard and rough against my bare feet.

"A few weeks back," the doctor started, smiling. "The last experiment gouged his eyes out with a nearby scalpel one of my careless students had left unattended and slashed his chest with it; right across his essential organs. We didn't even have time to react to this, and his head was severed at that time, having gone into one of our daily researches. So we decided to dump his body down the clearings. Anyways, the foxes needed feeding." His tone was so light and casual; he could've been talking about the weather.

After a while, we arrived in front of a white door, beautiful in its simplicity, yet the insides were morbid and saturnine. It was a place of blood and the conducting of tests results.

The doctor gave me another cryptic smile. "Shall we continue?"

I nodded. He opened the door.

* * *

The place was as white and as disgusting as I remembered. The smell of blood and anesthesia hit my nostrils, and the doctors clutching a load of documents to their chest whirled to look at us, gloves and other varieties already worn over their body out of old habit. They fidgeted; an action that didn't go unnoticed, and eyed me, excited for what awaited me on the cold surface of the table that laid across the room.

The doctor beside me smiled again. "Let's begin now, shall we?" He looked at me expectantly.

Wordlessly, I started walking towards the table in the middle, settling down and watching as the doctors fussed around me. Their motives weren't mentioned, never were, but it hung in the air like finely printed words, clear for me to see. I nodded to show I heard and understood. He walked over to me, a tube with a nozzle and piston in his gloved hands, and injected the vile into my raw skin. The liquids made me feel dizzy.

He smiled and pulled the syringe out and motioned for the others' to reel in a jar of sorts. The smell of blood and rotten eggs made my eyes water.

Majority of the occupants in the room were watching me with something like mild hunger blazing in their eyes, like I was an animal for display. They appeared starved almost - hunger to do ungodly things, and anticipating for the impossible to happen. Now that they were away from the place that comprised of rules and moral fundamentals, they were free to do things to us as they see fit.

The doctor who walked me here gathered several vials and surgical tools from the various cabinets around the room. His expression was one akin to a madman's.

He turned to me, smiling. "We're going to give you a few organs from an animal, and see what happens, alright? Then you'll be out in no time at all." The message, _if you don't struggle_ , wasn't mentioned, but was heavily implied.

Suddenly, my stomach twisted into tight and uneven knots once he squirted the disgusting vials into my bloodstreams, and my vision was tarnished with red.

 _Kill them_ , a dark, voice inside me urged, like a prayer, making me itch for the nearest blunt object I could get my hands on and stab the doctor in the chest with it.

The doctor gave me a reassuring smile and laid me across the table, still casual and easy going as if he wasn't going to rip open a child's body. "This would only take a few moments, an hour or two at most, okay?"

 _If I'm still alive by then_. But I nodded against my own better judgement.

 _Kill them_. The doctor smiled at me.

He strapped the leather bounds across my torso and legs and I closed my bloodthirsty vision, willing myself to go to sleep.

 _Kill_. I felt his haste and whispered instructions to the inexperienced and new surgeons.

 _Kill_ —a loud 'boom' ensued in the distance, causing the startled surgeons to lose their balance for a second. They were back up not even a few moments later; alarmed and hysterical.

The warm expression was quickly wiped off the doctor's face and a dark and obscure look replaced it instead. "What was that?" he barked. "If I find out that someone is messing around in the boiler room—" Before he could think of finishing his threat, the walls shook and burst, causing dozens of debris and rubble to crush a few of the surgeons body, blood erupting from their skulls.

The sight of the blood tainting the white and sterile floor made my bloodthirst grew. I was desperate to kill someone. My fingers itched. The knife above my head glinted maliciously. I reached for it.

The doctor's face was one of pure rage, unbothered by his subordinates' bodies that were crushed under the heavy weight of the wall. The alarm blared and echoed around the room, signaling the interference of intruders. "Gather only the necessities!" he snarled, watching as the frantic surgeons gathered the tools and crumpled documents. "Do what you must, sound the rest of the alarms, gather all the experiments, head towards the narrow rooms and make a run for it, leave behind the rest who you decide could not make it—" He couldn't finish his orders, because blood spluttered out from his mouth and his eyes convulsed with sudden pain. He turned to look at me, eyes widening at the glinting knife within my tight grasp, watching with fear as my hand drove it home, crushing his vital organs.

"Thank you for everything," I whispered, " _doctor_." I withdrew my hand, watching apathetically as his body descended down the ground, chest soaked through with blood and inhaling once, _twice,_ before his body sagged lifelessly, going still, alerting me of his death.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing, yet the blood drenching my bare feet proved my doubts otherwise. The doctor was dead. The one who initiated such horrific experiments on us was dead, gone, deceased, _killed_ by own hands. His blood soaked my fingertips.

This fact filled me with unmeasurable euphoria. He was dead - the sly, dirty fucker was _dead._ I, _we_ were free. Unbounded no more by the shackles that chained us to this hellhole. There will be no more experimentations, no more nights filled with nightmares and screaming.

The rest of the remaining surgeons inhaled sharply at my sudden display of violence, horrified at the blood soaking the previously pristine floor.

Still my nerves were shot, only one word played repeatedly in my mind, time and time again like a broken mantra that couldn't be stopped.

 _Kill_.

With my hands shaking wildly with bloodlust, I got down on my knees and lashed out, bloodied knife in hand as I drove it home. All the surgeons alike let out a startlingly loud and piercing wail, desperately trying to scramble out of my way. But I was fast and on my feet, and within short moments, I had them all moaning on the ground, a wonderful red hue blooming on their chest, blood fuming out of their mouth, eyes convulsing. Terror was evident in their expressions as I drove the knife down their torso, dragging it with such ferocity that their scream seemed like that of a young child's; inhuman and loud to my ears.

"Pathetic," was all I could say, not a single trace of remorse in my actions. These surgeons were gifted in the fields of science, gifted in surgery. Their knowledge was vast, but they were no match in the face of a threat, of a danger. Of an artificial being, created by their own greedy hands.

They shivered under my scrutinizing gaze, they screamed as I pierced their heart with every force my body could collect, they cursed my being, banning my existence, wailed that I should never have been born. This almost made me laugh, had my chest not felt so hallow. As intelligent as they were, they acted like cowards - _all_ of them; gifted, but weak; knowledgeable, but greedy.

Such was the nature of mankind.

By the time I finished with them, my shabby clothes were drenched through with blood, hair tousled, untamed and matted with sweat, and too-pale face dripping with body fluids. The knife in my hand felt heavy, the weight of it anchoring me down.

The alarm was still blaring through the turmoil that I had created, warning me to leave before someone catches me alive, drenched in the pool of their contractors blood.

So I stood and bolted out the ruined walls, past the rubble and debris, past the corpses of the surgeons, and down the white foyer. My haste footsteps drenched the flooring, the redness obvious against the whiteness of the floor. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted it and followed the trail down the patient room, where they would find a murderer in their wake. I didn't favor the idea of anymore bloodshed, but any other suspicious witnesses of my violence must die.

Fortuitously, I managed to reach the cell of children. Much to my sheer amazement, there were no guards. Not a single one in sight. The alarm must've summoned them all to the laboratory. But they'd be back to check on the spare experiments as soon as they found the bodies.

I took quick advantage of this rare opportunity and quickly opened the lock with as much grace as a sloth, twisting it with my knife. The children let out a frightened squeal at my bloody appearance, but I hushed them with an index finger, eyes narrowing in warning.

"Stay quiet if you want to be freed," I whispered urgently, and this all silenced them, but their eyes were wide and their mouths hanged open. Either from relief or fear, I couldn't tell.

With one last twist, the lock fell down with a clatter, now wet with the blood I brought with me. I swung open the cell and motioned for them to get out, movements rushed with quickness, each child instantly got up, fighting and tumbling over each other, wanting to be freed of the claustrophobic cell. Their thin cheeks were flushed scarlet from dried tears, and they each looked at me with an emotion akin to gratitude. I responded with a dulled tilt of the head.

My feet were still sodden with blood, and I realized that I couldn't possibly have that if we wanted to break free from this place. So I ripped open a part of my clothes that weren't as bloody as the rest of me with as much haste as I could must, and tied them around my feet.

The only one who didn't come out with the same urgency as the others' was the bloodied child from minutes or maybe even hours ago lying limply on the ground. I cursed at this and told the children to stay put, not wanting them to wander off in such a dangerous facility. I raced towards the batted figure of the injured body, and picked him up, not bothering to apologize for my ungentle actions. His eyes went wide, tears springing forth to life.

"Be quiet now," I whispered in a rush, "and try not to make any noise." His hold around my neck tightened, despite his injuries.

"Thank... you," he whispered, throat scratchy and voice hoarse. But there was genuine gratitude there too. "Thank... you... Thank... you so... much... onii... chan... " I ignored the honorifics and ran out. Most of the kids were bounded by shackles, but I didn't have time to cut them loose with my knife, already I heard footsteps coming through my left.

"Come," I whispered. I ran towards the other direction, away from the voices. The children followed suit, trying to run as far as their small legs could carry them.

Still, I heard the footsteps, and they were urgent and heavy, alerted by the missing experiments that I had freed. I whirled my head left and right, desperate for a way out, and then I saw a window, wide enough for all of them. I skidded to a halt, and ran towards it, poking my head through and meeting the sight of a huge clearing. Just a few feet away, a cluster of trees stood proudly amid the stormy weather, a bunch of oddly shaped figures in the darkness of the night. There wasn't a single soul standing guard outside.

I released the boy within my grasp and carefully placed him on the other side. The children got the general idea, and they all left, as hastily as their injured body could allow them, running towards the cluster of trees, far away from this place. The eldest child struggled to pull her younger through, her tiny form limiting her, so I carried them both and placed them on the other side. Unlike the other children, they both looked at me, smiling.

"Thank you," they both said in unison. Their gazes had a depth to them that put me on edge. They eyed me with eyes full of gratefulness and admiration; like I was their _hero_. This thought dismayed me. I was far from a hero, far from a saint. I was a killer; a cold-blooded one. The corpses of the doctors were enough of a proof of that.

But I nodded regardless of my thoughts and instructed them to leave. They both followed through with this order, although, much to my confusion, were a little reluctant to, but the footsteps behind me seemed to solidify their resolves to leave and so they did; but not before throwing a look at me that I couldn't fathom. They disappeared into the cluster of trees, following the other children.

I seized the knife out from the insides of my clothes, and in time, I was surrounded – ambushed would be a better phrase – by men in dark suits, rifles and pistols in hand.

"Where are the other experiments?" The leader, at least, I assumed he was anyway, demanded me, voice wary, taking a step forward.

I responded by holding the knife across my face. "They're dead," I deadpanned. "I killed them."

Their shoulders squared and they tensed around me; they believed it, I know they did, what, by my bloodied clothes to the knife in my hand, the lie came off so easy to believe.

"Did you also kill the doctor?" His tone was cold now, hard as ice.

I twisted my mouth into a satisfied smile. "Yes."

Without warning, they discharged their weapons at him, and I dodged their artilleries with practiced ease, the knife in my dripping palm felt like an old friend. I had no other reason to not let my bloodthirst show; the children were gone, maybe even safe. They'd go to the nearest station, call for help, and they'd be lead back to wherever they came from. There wasn't any other reason for me to hold back now.

 _Kill_. I hurdled myself towards them, dodging their ammos, stabbing their chest. My legs felt light, freer, my whole body seemingly having a mind of its own. My knife slashed a man's torso, and as a result, his blood splashed over my vision, momentarily blinding me and adding to the bloodied mess that was my face. Their aims were wild, shooting everyone else but their main target. I assumed that my movements were a blur to them; I zig-zagged across their troop, disappearing and re-appearing before them, slashing them with the blade of my knife, chopping their tendons, their arteries, the parts that would instantly kill them.

The scene was so graphic, and I _loved_ it. I adored every single second of it. Their screams felt like music to my ears, and, against my own will, I felt my mouth stretch into a wide, maniacal grin. My vision turned red as I skimmed through their bodies in a blinding killing spree.

Their blood somehow seems so dark to me, almost completely black; and their eyes were so wide against their faces, like it just conceded in on their skulls.

I certainly was no god, nor was I graceful, but I ended their life with the swipe of my knife, killed them all one by one with my bare hands.

It was morbid work, but I managed to kill them all. I stood in the middle of the bloodshed, not knowing what to do next.

"You—you fucking monster!" one of them yelled from my behind. I twisted my head. I moved my foot, and the floor beneath me made a loud splashing sound. I gave a small tilt to my head, genuinely confused. _So what if I was a monster?_ I questioned in my head, gears whirring to life. Haven't the corpses around me, this man included, committed more foul transgressions than I? All I did was justify the means, end a century worth of suffering.

To my absolute astonishment, I recognized this man. I wouldn't at first, had I not squint my eyes harder, but I recognized him. A beam of moonlight splashed over his ugly face, every structure visible, and fear so profound I could practically smell it.

"Adam," I said. But it came out small, soft, and it even sounded wrong against my own ears, like my voice was not mine at all, but of a completely different stranger's. In the darkness of the foyer, he stumbled back, fumbling for his weapons.

I took a step forward, and the floor gave out a loud splash. Adam fell down.

"S—stay the hell away from me y—you monster!" he squeaked. He continues to fumble with the weapon, hands shaking so wildly that the pistol flew out of his grip and landed on the ground with a resounding clatter.

He blindly tried searching for the gun, knocking over countless of other corpses in sheer desperation, eyes wide and hair entangled with sweat, unevenly cut bangs sticking to his skull like a gum.

I took another step forward.

 _Splash_. Adam froze. He was covered in blood, dark suit soaked through and through with it. He was red.

But not red enough.

 _Splash. Splash. Splash. Splash._ My footsteps were deliberately slow, and I was simply enjoying the frightened screams that elicited from my actions. The knife in my hand made a dripping sound, like tap water.

 _Splash. Drip-drip. Splash_. _Drip_ - _drip_. Adam suddenly regained his composure, finding comfort in the weapon he had successfully found after countless of fruitless attempts, and aimed it at my shoulder.

He fired. The shot reached its target.

I stumbled and fell back; the blood around me heaved loud squelch. My eyes trailed over towards the ceiling as the liquids around me began to drench my clothes, making me one with the bloodbath that I had created. The ceiling was white, shining with moonbeam, but suddenly, the beautiful sight was covered by a towering figure of an obese man sneering at me.

He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me up with as much care as child would to a doll, glaring into my eyes with such seething hatred, any lesser person would be cowering by now, shrinking under such a loath full gaze. "How does it feel, huh?" he snarled, and to prove his point, he squeezed my bleeding shoulder. "How does it feel, knowing you're going to die soon?" I didn't answer.

He took my sudden silence as victory. He grinned. "Does it hurt?" he whispered. He continued to squeeze my shoulders, giving it a tight squeeze. I kept what I hoped was a haughty tilt to my chin.

He sneered. "Arrogant brat." It happened so quickly, I didn't even have time to blink. He threw me hard against the opposite wall and beneath all of that violence, I heard something inside me give a sickening crack. I fell down the ground in a lifeless and bloody heap, coughing out blood.

Adam turned around, smug about this small victory, and most likely thinking that I was dead. I rolled over and looked at the ceiling again. When I moved my arms, I felt the reassuring weight of my knife, anchoring me. It had fallen off from my grip from the sudden throw, but it was there, solid and real.

 _Kill him_. "I'm sorry Adam," I whispered. I stood up, and wiped my mouth clean of the remaining blood. The liquid left a bad taste in my mouth, a metallic sensitivity of sort. Adam froze and turned around, shocked to see me still alive.

 _Kill him_. Assembling all the strength that I could possibly summon, I curled my fingers firmly around where the shot lay, shoved a finger where the hole was, and pulled the bullet out, watching as blood gushed out non-stop, trickling down my shoulder.

"What the fuck?" I heard Adam stammer, and he, in an effort to escape me, turned around, footsteps shuffling, but just as soon as he did, he tripped over a corpse, a loud splashing sound erupting from his sudden fall.

 _Splash. Splash._ In two long strides, I towered over him, eyes dull, mocking him in the way he did to me.

I knelt down to his level, and he yelped and scampered back, but a wall was in the way, so he had no other choice but to face me, to meet my eye amid the bloodshed I had twisted into life. Beneath my dissecting gaze, he quivered, knees buckling underneath his own heavy weight. His hand shook with genuine fear.

I dropped the bullet, and the two of us watched in union as it descended down the ground, splashing in the pool of human blood.

 _Kill him._

"But this kind of stuff—" I said, smiling. I upturned the knife over my head. "—doesn't work on me."

The sound he made when I pierced his heart was so loud, I was half expecting someone to emerge from the hallways and investigate if a deer or some kind of animal had entered the building. As luck would have it, no one did.

I gave Adam a small smile. His heartbeat reverberated against my knife. I could feel each pump of blood against the hilt of my blade, and I was mesmerized.

Adam died without much of a struggle. When I tried pulling the knife out, I pulled his heart along with it, veins and tendons getting dragged out of his torso. I stumbled back, not expecting the extra weight, and fell down with a splash. The heart landed on the ground, still beating, although weakly; and blood oozed out of the extra hole that I had added to it.

Carefully, I stood up, took the still-beating heart, and watch, transfixed, as it kept pumping itself despite how much blood it lost.

This was something far too vital to a human being. An essential organ so important, that man literally couldn't possibly live without it. And here I was, blank-faced, watching, _waiting_ for the heart to still.

It was fascinating, _truly_ fascinating. It was absolutely mesmerizing to watch that heart pump, to watch the basis of the beating go slower and slower, until it was nothing more than a dripping organ held within my bloody hands. All humans cannot live without this specific organ, and here I was, holding that said specific structure, watching as a human's source of life fade right before me. It was something terrifying, something dark and agonizing, but I watched it with rapt attention, ever single fiber within my very being focused solely on this one, single activity.

But someone interrupted me, "Tsu... na?" I whirled, eyes widening as a tall, black-haired man with a long sword came into view, brown, almost golden-like orbs broadening at the massacre that I had created. He had most likely witnessed everything.

 _Kill_. Without hesitation, I dropped the heart, jumped up and dove towards him with the full intention of driving the knife I held into his chest, testing it into his core the way I did to Adam's. But he was obviously smarter than he looked, far too smart, because he blinked and narrowed his eyes, jumping back like an agile cat. He was a trained pro, a fighter. It was noticeable from the way he moved, from the way he held the sword; from the way he dodged the swing of my knife. I slid to a stop, instantly knowing that I was in no way shape or form, a match for this guy, and that the wisest thing to do in this situation was to turn tails and run.

So that's exactly what I did.

I paused, stilled, before turning around and making a run for it. The strange man behind me yelped and screamed for me to come back, but I know, I know what he was going to do once he gets his hand on me: either kill me or hand me over to the police. Either way, both options didn't sound appealing in the slightest.

Unluckily for me, my blood soaked feet and clothes drenched the floor red, marking my footsteps against the white tiles. I _tsk_ ed and tried to look for any other available options.

The open window to my left gave me hope. When I thrusted my head out, I felt myself jump, startled. I had somehow run up to the third floor of the facility. Before I could think of running away once more, someone behind me halted to a stop, and I cursed under my breath, realizing that I lack the luck and the skills to flee from him again. I had already made it this far, and I certainly won't fall victim in the hands of a stranger as easily as I did with the facility's warped scientists. Hesitating, I wrapped the sharp blade into a strong and firm hold, climbed up and vaulted down the building, crossing my arms as a cluster of trees came into my vision and prepared myself for the sharp sensation that would come from the nearing fall.

But instead, I felt a pair of arms catch me. I struggled, waving the bloody knife, trying to scratch him with it, but, much to my sheer astonishment, he laughed, not bothered at all by my blood-stained clothes. He was the man who was chasing me down the foyer.

"Whoa, you sure did become really fast over the years Tsuna!" he exclaimed, chortling. He addresses me in an unfamiliar name, one that pulls at the back of my head, like a forgotten title, a forgotten memory. I twitched around and managed to push him away from me, successfully surprising him and I tried desperately to make another run for it. But, by the time that I landed on the ground, men clad in black surrounded me, giving me no choice but to cross my arms over my face and threateningly hold the soaked knife in front of them, snarling. Backup, no doubt; ready to drag me back to that sterile conflagration. But no, nothing, not a single force on earth, could reel me back in there.

There was no way in fucking _hell_ I would let that happen.

"Go no further," I sneered, backing up to a tree, in an attempt to climb up and swing myself out of this hellhole.

Again, though, the smiling man from before grabbed my arm and shook his head, still grinning. His grip was strong, like steel; and his broadmindedness gave me an uneasy feeling. But his smiles weren't as cold and hallow as the doctor's; more like a self-assuring grin a soldier wore before leaving for battle.

"They really did a ton of damage to you in that laboratory, huh?" he said, eyes softening in an emotion I identified as sadness. I faltered, hesitating, before remembering myself and pushing him away.

"I said," I growled, "go no further." He looked at me, startled, before sporting a look of hurt. This action greatly confused me. What does he have to be hurt about? I only met him a few seconds ago, and I would most likely die in his hands if he deems me irrational, unstable, and a force that couldn't be reckoned with.

He sighed, gesturing for the men to leave and they did, but not before throwing a hateful glare in my direction, as if they were actually daring me to hurt the smiling man. So he must be the leader. "Tsuna," he said, eyeing me. "I want you to listen to me." He grabbed my hand and I jerked, glaring.

His eyes looked sad. "I—" Before he could finish whatever it was he was going to tell me, someone behind me seized me by the arm and placed a cloth over my nose and my mouth. I widen my eyes and lurched like a fish out of water, swaying the knife, but eventually, the substance within the cloth made my movements sluggish, and I slumped against the figure, suddenly exhausted, and I dimly, albeit weakly, tried to pick up their conversation.

If I must go down, I thought spitefully, then I would _need_ to know who they were, what they're after, and most importantly, what they were planning on _doing_ to me.

I needed information, one that I didn't seem to uphold yet.

"—Hibari!" the smiling man screamed, blanching. Smile instantly smeared off his face. An arm was wrapped around me, not securely but more like firmly, guardedly, as if I might haul off and attack him like a cornered predator. His hands were pale, almost completely white.

"—Unstable," the man holding me responded back monotonously. "—Dangerous—killed—needs to be put down." The cloth around my mouth tightened and I screamed.

"—hurting him!" the man said, edging closer before pausing. The man still holding me placed me over his back, the cloth now gone but the effects still instantaneous. The knife that had brought me so much comfort was taken from me, now being studied by the other raven-haired man. "—death—killed all of them in cold blood—killer." I was almost drifting, but I forced myself to listen.

The smiling man's figure was blurry, but I could clearly register the scowl gracing his face. "—is Tsuna!" he screamed. "—remember—Hibari—experimented—kidnapped—taken from us!" My eyes rolled back to my head, but not before I heard the man holding me say something that made my blood run cold.

"—He's not Tsunayoshi anymore." With that, I let myself float into sub consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you very much thus far. I hope this chapter doesn't bore you, lol.

I do not own the picture or the characters - KHR belongs to the wonderful Amano Akira, and I firmly credit the original artist.

My transitions are very clumsy, and my pacing might be fast - so if there are any grammar mistakes, or very confusing transitions, please do let me know, and I'll see what I can do about it !

But please, do enjoy and tell me what you think !

* * *

 **Two**

 _IT WASN'T RAINING ANYMORE_ , yet dark clouds loomed over the earth, like a permanent reminder of the unnerving weather, a cluster of black and blurry figures materializing out of thin air, obscuring the beam of sunlight peeking through the distorted and shadowy features. Soft droplets fell on the crust of the earth, and in response, the soft, lenient ground turned rigid, as if it was broadening on itself, away from the sizzling touches of the raindrops.

Takeshi leaned against a nearby tree, exhausted and fatigued beyond words. His suit was frayed – ruined would be a better word, perhaps will be used for kitchen scraps the next time he sees Hayato's sister.

Not that he cared much; expenses were never really a problem for someone like him. His sword lay untouched beside him, idly positioned on the hard oak-like borders of the tree, blood trickling slowly down the blade, as if time slackened everything, every movement available. Neither Takeshi, nor anyone else for that matter, had the strength to stand up.

Fire and smoke in union still ate away the remains of the building; old, grey walls turning into charred and black relics in the middle of nowhere. Only a few people tried to stop and slow down the flames, but even then, fatigue was written plainly on their figure.

Everyone was already dismissed for the day. Takeshi's men left the vicinity without another word of protest; Hibari had made certain of that.

 _Hibari_. The thought of the other made Takeshi smash his teeth together both in anger and in vain.

"Oi! Baseball idiot!" someone called him over the loud abusing sounds of the inferno. Takeshi didn't respond.

The ground heaved a loud squelch, leaves rustling, and moments later, Gokudera Hayato stood in front of him, hands on hips and the usual mundane scowl settled on an angry mouth. "Didn't you fucking here me call you?" He was dripping wet, and his suit was soaked through with a mysterious dark liquid that Takeshi immediately concluded was blood. Again, though, Takeshi didn't respond. He reacted by reaching for his sword and unsheathing it.

Hayato didn't find this sudden action amusing. "Baseball idiot what're you—"

"I told you to wait, didn't I?" Hayato furrowed his eyebrows, bemused by the swordsman's sudden calm and collected tone.

Takeshi stood and threw the sword to the ground, eyes bleak and furious. "Didn't I tell you to wait for my signal? Why did you throw the bomb? There were children in there." At this, Hayato narrowed his eyes.

"You know fucking well why I threw the dynamite, Yamamoto." Takeshi bristled.

"Do you not understand what I'm saying? There were children, _children_ locked in there. They could've suffocated to death, or _worse_." He strongly emphasized the word 'children'. "And you threw that damn bomb without so much as blinking an eyelash."

"You saw him, baseball-idiot." Hayato was now standing face to face with Yamamoto, the trees obscuring his eyes from view, but the glare he was directing prominent and so very visible. "You saw him, and you saw what those people were planning on doing."

His glare hardened. "You can't just fucking expect me to just sit still and hope that all is well, when the Tenth was right there before us," he snarled.

"That isn't an excuse to casually dismiss orders," Takeshi countered.

"The Tenth wouldn't be alive if it weren't for what I did."Hayato's face was black with fury.

"Tsuna wouldn't think that—"

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake," Hayato murmured, running a frustrated hand through his dreadlocks. They've had this conversation over a _hundred_ times already, but each time, Takeshi emerged unscathed from these heated quarrels, not heeding the advice, as clueless and as ignorant as ever, and Hayato just fumed silently, knowing his warning fell on deaf hears. "Wake _up_ already, Yamamoto. This is the _mafia_! Didn't he tell you that there were sacrifices that needed to be made in order to get what we want!"

He let out a shaky exhale, attempting to reel back his anger. "One wrong move and you're _dead_. Hesitate and you would _never_ live to see the next day. I've been involved with the underground society all of my life, I know how the fundamentals around here work like the back of my hand."

"Then you took the risk knowing well that Tsuna could've died," he countered coldly. Hayato paused, considering this, taking it in.

Eventually, he relented. " _Yes_." Takeshi's eyes widen; first to bewilderment, then to horror, then rage.

Without thinking, he had the hilt of his sword in one hand, the sharp blade positioned over Hayato's neck, close enough to draw blood out, but not enough to cause fatal damage.

His other hand had Hayato's head lolling to the side, his tie locked within Takeshi's hand in a firm grip, bringing him nearer to the face of death. He was inhaling and exhaling deeply, his breath creating small puffs of air in the cold night. His grip around his sword was so tight, that his knuckles throb and shook nonstop, turning into a ghostly shade of white. Yamamoto suppressed the killer urge to push the blade further.

"Let me go Takeshi," Hayato admonished him coldly, tonelessly, making no attempt to push the blade away. Yamamoto felt his entire body shake with rage, and Hayato's air of nonchalance wasn't helping him calm down, either. Something like this shouldn't be taken lightly, it should matter more to Hayato. _It should matter more_.

" _How could you be so casual about this?_ " Yamamoto exclaimed, the vastness of their surroundings making the anger in his voice evident, more palpable, more _threatening_.

Hayato's face was as dim as the devil himself. " _Why shouldn't I fucking be?_ " Hayato yelled back, just as fierce, just as loud, arms now loosely gripping Takeshi's elbow. "Taking risks is what we do, bastard! There's no point in being a guardian if you're just going to sit back and cry, _sole custody!_ whenever something wrong happens!" Hayato's eyes were fierce and narrowed, and he looked at Takeshi with fiery intensity. "The sooner you acknowledge this, the better—I can't just fucking wait around when the Tenth was right there in front of me, _suffering_ , suffering so fucking much because of those rotten bastards!" Hayato was panting now, and Takeshi was no different.

The swordsman took this in, digesting these words, and instead of nurturing this sudden outburst, the sudden confession, the anger inside him flared to an almost suffocating level.

Hayato suddenly seemed to grow impatient, seeing that Yamamoto had no intention of releasing him, and decided to shove the other away, both stumbling back from the force behind the shove; Hayato was mindful of the sharp blade across his neck, and when he turned to look up, Yamamoto's head was veered downwards, staring at his feet as if they were the most interesting notion in the world, and his sword clattered on the grass, dampening with the scorching touches of the raindrops.

The bomber, seeing the other's listless and pitiful figure in the downpour, scowled deeply, seeing that the swordsman was as deaf as ever, and spun, preparing to leave.

But the sound of Takeshi's voice halted him, made him turn around, eyes slightly widening in bafflement. "Tsuna's with Hibari; he drugged him."

"He _what?_ "

"It's because Tsuna's different now, Hayato… " When Takeshi turned to look at him, his eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked like he was preventing himself from gagging. "He's not the same person—you _saw_ those bodies in the hallways, right?" Hayato took this in, and nodded. His sharp mind measured the meaning behind Yamamoto's cryptic words, before it all clicked, fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle, and he repressed the sudden urge to punch Yamamoto in the face. "So he drugged him because he thought that the Tenth was _unstable_?" Hayato was incredulous, but also mad. Madder than he'd ever been.

"How the _fuck_ could you let him think that way about the Tenth!" Hayato roared, stomping his feet, enough to make the ground shake. Takeshi nearly winced.

"I tried! You know how Hibari feels about—"

"Don't bring that heartless bastard back into our conversation!" Hayato stomped towards Yamamoto, snarling like an angered dog. "I'm asking why you let him _do_ that! I didn't just fucking waste half a decade of my life only for him to harm the Tenth—"

"He wasn't harming him—"

"What does drugging define as harming, baseball-bastard?" Hayato yelled.

Takeshi squared his shoulders. "He did what he thought was best—"

" _Come off it!_ " Gokudera took a step back, before heading south. "Where are you going!" Takeshi shouted after him, the wind pulling at his voice.

Hayato didn't stop. "I'm going to teach that bastard a fucking lesson," was Hayato's clip and stiff explanation, before disappearing around the facility walls.

Takeshi stared after him for one fleeting moment, before he thought back to how they all had gotten themselves into this mess in the first place.

Perhaps if Takeshi had stopped Hibari, made him see reason, then perhaps he would've questioned Tsuna, would've been given the chance to talk to him; perhaps they could have reconciled, could have racked their shared history back to life.

But then, he thought about Hibari; with his unforgivable steel gaze, his aloof aura, the air of equanimity that hung around like a heavy cloth.

And he knew Hibari well enough to know what he plans to do with Tsuna.

He would _never_ let Tsuna go; not unless Tsuna showed signs that he wasn't going to kill them at any spare chance he got. He would chain him down, and cling to him, drowning him, keeping a mindful watch on him. He wouldn't even care if these things would slowly drive Tsuna into a spiral of madness, what Hibari deems right and just, would indeed, be fulfilled.

And Takeshi, no matter how he hated to admit it, couldn't do anything about it.

* * *

"Do you really think Tsuna might be there?" Takeshi asked; brown eyes narrowed worriedly as he looked at the other man clad in black, raven locks prim and neat, but his cobalt eyes steeling seriously. "Are you questioning my judgement, herbivore?" Takeshi winced, but shook his head.

The raven-haired man gave a firm nod. "Yes, I am certain." He trailed his hand over the map like a general would when marching his soldiers to battle. "There were a lot of kidnapping sighted around here—" He pointed at a certain district. "And here—" He pointed to another town, and, startlingly, these two districts were near each other. "So, their base would be located around here—" He circled his hands over the green patches, marking it as a forest district. "Where nobody would venture in, because of the rumors that circulates around the town about ridiculous ghosts and whatnots."

Takeshi, instead of looking reassured, nervously flicked his eyes towards the raven-haired man. "Are we just seeing what we want to see?" Giving his own opinion, he pointed at the green patches. "I've been there, Hibari, and everything in this region is filled with moors that could sink in trespassers if they don't pay close attention."

Hibari gave him an incredulous look. "Isn't that an all the more reason to go there?" This time, Hayato emerged from the shadows, cigarette in hand. He sneered.

"I've gotta agree with the skylark on this one, baseball-idiot." He, too, trailed his fingers across the map. "We've scoured the entire country – and even Japan – but there was no sign of the Tenth there. And both times, we arose from the search, fruitless." He gave Takeshi a hard look. "Venice is the only city we haven't yet put forward through with." His grip around the cigarette tightened. "We've gotta take our chances with the storm."

Takeshi gave them both a miserable look. "But ten years have already passed by, guys," he said. "And one of us might die out there – and you know very well the moors aren't what I'm talking about," he continued unhelpfully. The trio stayed silent.

They were fugitives, criminals at most, and even Hibari was forced to leave Japan to take refuge in Italy.

Hayato's grip continued to tighten, despite the cigarette crumbling under his hold. "You don't need to remind us about that, you baseball bastard." His emerald orbs glowed fiercely. "We know very well the risk that we're taking, but remember that Vongola's got our back, and the Tenth—" he paused, flicking the cigarette away.

Once again, the topic of their boss hangs in the air like a ticking time bomb.

Hayato was the first to snap them all back to reality. "I'm going, and I'm sure the skylark would be more than delighted to offer his assistance." He trudged his way out of the room, and made sure to slam the door a little harder than necessary on his way out.

Takeshi heaved a riled sigh. He looked at the raven-haired next. "Hibari, you know that Tsuna wouldn't want any more bloodshed—"

"Tsunayoshi isn't here." Takeshi clambered his mouth shut at this, knowing that it was the harsh reality of their situation. "And while the omnivore isn't around… " He closed the map, sending Takeshi a dark look. "That would leave me in charge of all you herbivores, and I expect you all to act accordingly." With this resolve, Hibari left the room, leaving Takeshi alone with his own thoughts.

* * *

"Is everything ready?" Takeshi asked, looking over the dense trees that hid the moors from view as Hayato fumbled with something behind him.

Hayato huffed out an irked grunt. "Yes, I got everything ready."

Takeshi smiled. "Let's go then."

* * *

Crossing the moors was so easy that it almost made Takeshi dubious.

Takeshi and Hayato easily blended in with the shadows, their suits melding with the darkness as the night sky shone upon the building, its decaying walls a stark contrast to what lies inside.

Takeshi's professional eyes trailed over the small vicinity, noting the small cameras carefully hidden from view and nodding at Hayato, who had a joint lit to his mouth and scowled, (giving his face a wonderfully villainous glow).

He bent down, and dished out a pack of dynamites.

"Is that all it is?" Takeshi asked with a pang of disappointment. Hayato threw him a seething glare.

"Don't you, 'is that all it is?' me you bastard." He tinkered with the device, scowling. "It took me years to get this shit working."

Takeshi passed him a curious glance. "How long?"

Hayato looked at him. "Five, maybe a little over six years," he shrugged. "I lost count."

Takeshi raised a brow, somewhat impressed. "You do realize that if the military gets its hand on that thing, they could destroy an entire continent," he mused, exaggerating. Hayato's mundane scowl at this joke made Takeshi chuckle. He unsheathed his sword, studying it.

Hayato rolled his eyes. "As if I would let those fuckers get their hands over what's mine." He continued to tamper with the device, adjusting wires, etc.; things too complicated for Takeshi's simple brain to comprehend. "How are your men doing in the southern district?" Hayato asked, surprising Takeshi, since he so rarely asked questions. He removed the cigarette from his mouth before crushing it and throwing it away.

Takeshi grinned. He loved that question. "They're doing great," he said, animated. "I called them over and they quickly follo—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it – shut the fuck up before you blow my ears off." Hayato made a show of scratching his ear, vein mark popping and all.

Takeshi's smile fell. "Well, you shouldn't have asked then if you actually never cared in the first place—" Hayato stilled, a signal for Takeshi to end his rambling.

Takeshi groaned. "I wish Tsuna kept that influence he had over you—"

"Tenth?" Takeshi stilled. It was very rare for Hayato to mention their boss in such a manner, and he was still – too still for comfort. His hand shook over the dynamite and Takeshi turned his head and also, in turn, was stilled, silenced, _stumped_ frozen in place.

There, in the window a few quarters away, was the silhouette of a boy, brown turf unkempt and untamed and so very, _very_ familiar.

That had only half of their attention; what held their gaze were the organs the doctor held, and at the dotted lines that stood out over the boy's pale stomach.

Before he could say anything, Hayato roared, his face livid with hot and dark anger, one that Takeshi has never witnessed before, and hurdled himself towards the window before Takeshi could tell him to stop.

The 'boom' that ensued was so loud that the sound vibrated throughout Takeshi's skull, and he watched in shock as half of the estate was engulfed in fire. (Just how fucking powerful was that bomb?)

Takeshi managed to piece himself back together and blew out a small _tsk_ upon fully registering what just happened.

 _Hibari isn't going to like this,_ he thought, exasperated. He leaped down the tree and ran towards the door.

What met him when he ventured in was… bloody that was for sure. He grimaced at the blood splattered entrance. But he was already used to such things – _more like he was_ forced _to, anyway_ \- so he collected himself before climbing up the spiral staircase, letting his instincts kick in, and dodging the horde of bullets aimed at him. He grinned and diced them with his sword, movements so blurred and swift that it was too difficult for the enemy to catch.

Takeshi took in the situation. Sure, he was outnumbered, but judging by the way they held their guns, their weapons, they were weaklings. No match for someone like him.

In a matter of seconds, they were all down, bleeding and groaning.

"Pathetic," Takeshi said, sighing. _I expected more from the famiglia who had the audacity to take Tsuna away from us._ He sheathed his sword, ambling further down the uncannily white foyer. His eyes went over everything, memorizing each structure, each construction with calculating orbs. He hated it. Hated everything it stood for, it represented. He _hated_ it.

He hated _all_ of it.

He heard the harrowing screams of someone down the corridor, veering him off the course of his wandering thoughts. Believing that it was one of his men that Hibari sent for backup, he vaulted down the hall, eyes wide and frantic. He would _not_ stand for the torment of his men.

When he arrived, everything was covered in smoke and blood. Debris was everywhere. This place was beyond ruined. Coughing and waving the smoke away, he squinted, blinded by the smoke for a second. Blood seeped through his clothes and he wadded his foot, disgusted.

His sharp ears managed to pick up the sound of breathing. Someone was still alive.

He grabbed his sword, preparing to dice somebody if deemed necessary, but then, he lowered his blade, not because he was suddenly relieved of his worries, but because of the disastrous scene playing before him.

A body lay beneath him, flayed and listless; Takeshi didn't need to be a doctor to know that the man was dead. He'd seen many dead bodies in his short human lifespan to identify a chest that ceased to rise and fall, limbs that sagged lifelessly. There was a gaping hole in the middle of the corpse's chest, signaling the alarming absence of a heart.

And that said heart was wrapped around the fingers of a boy in the middle of the bloodied foyer.

A brunet boy, who had ragged clothes soaked through and through with blood, had a heart, a _heart_ , an actual fucking _heart_ , firmly clutched around his hand, still beating, and the boy just stood there, watching in some kind of twisted fascination as it continued to beat. A knife was held tightly in his other hand, dripping with the blood of the corpses. Body fluid dripped down his pale face, whether it was the boy's own or someone else's, he couldn't tell. But the scene made Takeshi feel sick.

He walked forward, free arm outstretched, the ground beneath him heaving out a loud squelch. "Tsu… na?" he whispered before he could stop himself and he paused midway in alarm as the boy whirled, startled, and Takeshi sucked in a sharp intake of breath.

The boy's face... his _face_ was so familiar that Takeshi's brain refused to believe it; refused to digest this reality. Yet the proof was right before his eyes, breathing and _alive._

Yet _damaged_ ; that much was obvious.

Without warning, the boy dropped the heart and charged at him, eyes narrowed with the full intention of hurling the blunt object into Takeshi's chest. This observation quickly made him step back, alarm bells ringing around him as the boy skidded to a halt, eyes so wide that they could've belonged to a child. He took two steps, before clicking his tongue and making a run for it, with Takeshi letting out an inhuman noise from the surprising display of defiance.

He was just about to chase him but a presence behind him made him pause and turn.

Hibari stood there, ignoring the incredulous look Takeshi was throwing at him, arms crossed and face as blank as ever. But his eyes were narrowed having, no doubt, witnessed the entire scene, and he was contemplating. _Fuck_. Takeshi clenched his fist, and without another pause, ran after the brunet boy's figure, not letting the supposed leader of their troupe hinder him from fulfilling his needs.

Perhaps it was a good thing that Tsuna was soaked through with blood, because the boy was _ridiculously_ fast, and Takeshi had to sprint to catch sight of him. Seeing that he couldn't escape with Takeshi trailing behind him, the boy whirled his head around before skidding to an abrupt pause when he was beside the window.

Realization dawned on Takeshi and he paused as well, disbelief written all over him.

 _He wouldn't_ , Takeshi thought, paling.

But the boy was a risk taker, and it didn't take him but a second to climb up and arch down, much to Takeshi's sheer horror.

There was another window, with a rod attached to the wall, so Takeshi sprinted towards it and slid down in one, fluid motion, landing on the ground and using his sword as a stick to secure his landing. He watched the brunet boy descended, arms crossed across his face in an attempt to shield himself from the oncoming fall.

Takeshi reached out and caught him, relieved that the boy was safe within the confines of his arms.

The boy on the other hand though, was not at all pleased at this and jerked around; waving the knife in Takeshi's face like he was threatening to cut half of the swordsman's face off.

Takeshi laughed. It was an actual laugh. "Whoa, you're really fast, Tsuna!" he exclaimed, grinning playfully. The brunet squirmed at this before pausing, confusion evident from the way his brows connected together, before he curled a small fist around Takeshi's chest, and then aggressively shoving him away.

Looking disheveled, the boy glanced around the perimeter, looking for an escape route. But by the time he was already on the ground, Takeshi's troop had surrounded the area, blocking him and providing him no hope of making another attempt to escape.

Takeshi was about to reach out, but the boy pulled out his knife, snarling like an angered bear. "Go no further," he threatened tonelessly, but there was a sharp and dangerous edge to his voice. Far sharper than the bloody knife that he held tightly across his face.

He edged towards the tree's direction, but Takeshi knew what he was planning on doing, and ambled towards him, firmly keeping a tight hold over his tattered shoulders. The brunet jerked back and looked over at him in shock and uneasiness and confusion. That quickly wiped the smile off of Takeshi's face.

"They really did a ton of damage to you in that laboratory, huh?" Takeshi said, eyes softening. The brunet boy flinched and his eyes rounded in alarm, but then, he narrowed them again and pushed Takeshi away.

"I said," the brunet boy growled, squaring his soldiers, " _go no further_." Takeshi widened his eyes and felt himself _hurting_ because of it. His pain must've shown itself because the boy's eyes rounded in alarm, slightly bemused.

Takeshi noticed the whispers erupting from his men and he shot them a firm glare - signaling for them to leave. They nodded, although reluctantly because they could clearly see the blood-soaked boy who had no reason as to why he shouldn't stain his fingers again with the blood of their leader, but another firm glare had them leaving the vicinity without saying another word.

When they left, Takeshi turned to look at the brunet boy, smiling. "Tsuna, I want you to listen to me." He held the boy's arm and he jerked, raising the knife threateningly. Takeshi's smile fell again.

His eyes went downcast. "I—" Before he could think of finishing his statement, someone seized Tsuna's arm from behind, causing the boy to jerk and wave the knife around, snarling lividly. But the figure tightened his hold around the brunet boy and places a sterilized cloth over his mouth. The boy still struggled, but they eventually grew sluggish and slow, slumping against the figure, his eyelids fluttering, threatening to close.

Takeshi lets an indignant yell of surprise escape his lips. "You're hurting him, Hibari!" He walked forward, intending to take Tsuna, but Hibari shot him a threatening glare, warning him to go no further.

"You saw what this boy did," he said, jerking Tsuna's body. "He's unstable. Dangerous. He killed those surgeons without so much as batting an eyelash." He tightened his hold, preventing the boy from doing anything about the situation. "He needs to be put down."

"But you're hurting him!" Takeshi protested, furious. "And how could you have possibly known that?" As soon as the words left his mouth, though, Takeshi felt himself falter, knowing the answer to that question. _Of course_ he knew. _He was fucking_ Hibari Kyouya.

And nothing _ever_ got past _him_.

Hibari gave him a hard look. He swiftly pulled the knife away from the boy's weak grip and placed him over his shoulders like a ragged doll. "Say all you want, but I was there before the explosion happened." His gaze was cold and steady. "I witnessed their deaths. This boy killed all of them in cold blood." He raised the knife, studying it, before handing it towards Takeshi to emphasize his point. "He's a _killer_ , herbivore."

Takeshi's face continued to pale, and the smile he wore previously was replaced by a deep scowl. "That's not some killer," Takeshi yelled, "that's _Tsuna_! Don't you remember, Hibari? He was experimented on for _ten years_ \- kidnapped." He narrowed his eyes. "He was taken from us!"

Hibari held Takeshi's angered gaze with his own steady ones. "Don't think I don't know that, _herbivore_ ," he said, but then he threw Takeshi a cold glance. "But you must remember," he added, releasing the cloth and watching it fall down the ground. "No matter what you see in this boy." He wiped the blood off of the brunet's face with surprising gentleness, but his eyes were cruel - cold, _calculating_.

He whipped his head towards Takeshi's direction, before walking away.

Takeshi slumped down against a nearby tree, letting the force of Hibari's words hit him full on.

" _He's not Tsunayoshi anymore_."


	3. Chapter 3

oh noo. woe. despair. Tsuna was drugged by the demon prefect of namimori and captured ;((

"What is he going to do now?"

Basically, that's what this chapter's about !

All further questions shall be answered in the next chapter.

Please do forgive me for any grammar errors or typo. And let me know if you find one !

Thank you and enjoy!

* * *

 _mine eye_

 _Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:  
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched  
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,  
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,_

Samuel Taylor Coleridge, _Frost at Midnight_

 **THREE**

My eyes flung themselves open, before cringing away from the harsh rays of the early sunlight that greeted the people of the norms in the early morning. I attempted again, and this time, my pupils grew more accustomed to the blinding rays and proceeded to weakly look at my surroundings, fighting back the urge to panic at the sight of an unfamiliar location.

 _Well_ , I analyzed, trying to reason myself, there was a searing pain throbbing below my lower thighs and upper neck, but the throbbing was nothing more than a dull, thumping sound that just wouldn't go away, which grated on me, which sort of explained why it was painful.

 _Shit_. I froze, suddenly horrified. _What happened_?

I violently discarded the satin blankets off of me, ripping off any sort of preclusion that might've prevented me from seeing my body, before soundlessly releasing a breath that I didn't know I was clinging to. My limbs were still intact—but badly damaged, of course. The iron chains left their unforgiving markings forever implanted on my skin, so that the flesh above my feet is twisted and mutilated, turning into something dark, reddish, and purple. Most of my other injuries were covered with bandages though; including the wrist that I thought was broken - and the shoulder that was brutally shot; as if some form of higher deity decided to finally acknowledge my existence and take pity on me.

But the healing of my injuries did not explain _where_ I was, or _who_ had kidnapped me.

And _why_ I was clad in proper human attire and currently lying in a very comfortable bed with delicious food beside the nightstand of the aforementioned piece of wood, basically _seducing_ me on to consume _everything_. The last time I saw a decent amount of bread _with_ butter on an actual plate and not thrown carelessly onto the floor was, well, _never_. The mere fact that I was laying in such an expensive-looking room, seemed so surreal. It almost felt like a delusion that I would never normally dare to dream of.

 _Jesus Christ_. I clutched my head, and squeezed it tight, unused to the strange, tight feeling fluttering within the confines of my chest.

Were they _toying_ with me?

Playing some sort of twisted, _twisted_ mind game to fuck with my already deteriorating mental state? Did my kidnappers decided that the bloodthirsty kid with the slowly declining mental health would want to live in a life of luxury and solitude for a limited amount of time before ripping it all away from him in a matter of seconds? Or did they just mistaken me for the wrong person, or _god forbid_ , the wrong ' _product'_ that was in dire need of grooming?

The possibilities of the latter actually being true was close to none existent because anybody with a brain would be able to differ a prostitute from a skinny boy that was on a bloody _fucking_ rampage.

Which made me come to a startling realization that, _fuck_ , I was _weak_ , _malnourished_ , and most importantly, _vulnerable_. I had absolutely _nothing_ to protect myself with, and I was within _enemy_ grounds, inside their headquarters, probably their main focus, or the focus that _needed_ to be reckoned with.

 _Which meant I_ couldn't _escape_.

I grabbed my hair and nearly ripped it out from my skull out of sheer frustration. Freedom was so, _so_ close to me, that, at that time, I thought that there was absolutely no _way_ that it was going to be taken from me, seeing that it was so _close within my reach_.

To vent out the anger and frustration that was coiling itself around my neck, I grabbed the nearest object near me, and threw it at the opposite wall - the glass of water shattered everywhere, leaving nothing but broken crystallized remains. To _think_ that my plans for freedom were snatched away from me so easily…

 _And what about those kids?_ My stomach twisted and turned thinking about them. Did they make it out safely? Were they able to leave? And _why_ was I so worried about them? Did I care for them?

This nearly made me tear a portion of my unruly hair out of my head. _No_. That's impossible. That _couldn't_ be it. Maybe it was my conscience's way of showing me that I was merely human? That _this_ was its way of showing me that I wasn't just a beast wrought from the cold laboratory table inside that sterile conflagration?

For a second, I feared I was going to retch all over the expensive floor, never mind the fact that releasing any form of bile in my body would only worsen my already horrible condition. Everything was just too confusing, too _puzzling_ , any information that I could come up with was muddled, disoriented, and my mind was in shambles because of it, because I just can't _think_ straight and grasp the situation at hand.

My eyes widen and I momentarily stopped pulling at my hair. Wait… was _this_ what they were aiming for? Their intention? To toy with me and my fucked-up mind by simply placing me in a small, luxurious room filled with nothing but things a normal human would only dare to fight tooth and nail for? To make me panic in an undoubtfully comfortable and unfamiliar surrounding?

Because if it _was_ , then god forbid they were _crueler_ than anyone else I've ever come across of. To think they would go so far as to resort to _this_.

My blood froze and I felt a nerve jump as I firmly clenched my jaw together.

I needed to _leave_. I needed to find a _way out_. I don't want to stay in this godforsaken place for another _second_.

As carefully and as silently as I could, I slipped off the bed, wincing at the jolting pain that suddenly reverberated throughout my upper back, still unused to the usage of my body after what felt like months of staying in such a stiff position, before limping towards the nearest door, silently tugging at it to see if it was working before giving it a light push, surprised when it creaked and opened, almost as if it was just waiting for me to do that. A sudden rush of relief seized me, with just the tiniest speck of suspicions, disbelieved that my captors would leave something as crucial as the entry way unattended.

Were they really this careless?

I was uneasy, but I wasn't willing to let this opportunity slip pass my fingers. Carefully, I slid outside, noticing the dim lightings of the thick hallway, before mutely closing the door, sneaking pass really bright lightings and looming shadows, thankful that it was dark outside and nobody caught sight of me yet; but it was just a matter of time before they realized I escaped from my sleeping quarters.

Hastily, I ran for the nearest exist in sight, but clearly, I overlooked something, something _crucial_ , because this house was fucking _huge_ , and there was no exit in sight, just corridor after endless corridor with doors that could lead to _anywhere_.

Christ, this mansion was a fucking _labyrinth_.

There was nowhere for me to turn or hide, and I realized a little too _late_ that it was reckless of me to think that escaping here would be as easy as breathing. In any other given time, I would be panicking, but now since I've gotten myself into this situation, I couldn't turn back. Leaving that room was crossing a one-way boundary; one that I wasn't willing enough to return to.

I paused, eyes narrowing. Was I scared? The prospect of fear wasn't one that occurred to me every day. But this emotion most certainly is _not_ fear, not with the way I'm reacting right now. I'm not scared, but _lost_ , especially without the helpful aid of a weapon to reassure me.

I couldn't seem to breathe all of a sudden.

 _Shit_. I forgot that I didn't have a _weapon_. Once more, I was forced to face the fact that I was vulnerable and weak, that without firearm, I am but a run-away experiment, desperately trying to flee from something that was already deemed unescapable since my birth. I willed such thoughts away, shaking my head, before venturing further down the dimly-lit hallway.

My breath hitched and turned rigid, and my skinny arms flew up to my mouth to prevent any sort of sound to escape my lips, my eyes widening into an abnormal state, and pausing. What _was_ that?

Was I about to _whimper_? I shoved a fist into my mouth to stifle the pathetic noise. I'm _shaking_ , that much was noticeable, and everything was disoriented, everything was turning and spinning out of control.

Wait _, What_? Why was everything spinning out of control?

Then, I noticed it. Two blurred figures wielding torch-like objects in the distance, shouting what seemed like orders.

They were heading this way.

Gritting my teeth and willing the headache away, I bolted up and ran as fast as I could towards a different direction, hoping that the tell-tale 'pit-pat' of my feet won't give away my location. Thank God it didn't.

But something else did.

Due to the fact that I couldn't see clearly and everything in general was just extremely blurry, I knocked over what seemed like something made out of glass, judging from the loud 'crash' that resounded throughout the halls, the shards piercing through the floor near my feet. Just my luck. Someone from somewhere I couldn't identify apparently heard the noise, and yelled some things in a language I couldn't understand.

Desperately, I picked up the largest piece of glass I could find, not minding the trickle of blood that slithered in-between my fingers, stood up, and made another bail for it, making a left turn and hoping that the crash wouldn't bite me back some time later in the future.

But as I started to think that I managed to escape them, someone barricaded the entrance with their bodies, surrounding and preventing me from continuing my little escapee. With no option left, I ran the other direction, but that, too, was barricade with, what I assumed, strong men clad in black suits. They all remained head-fast and firm, showing no signs of letting me go. I halted, and tried to take in deep and shallow breaths, one hand on my knee, the other holding the remains of the vase near my face as a defense mechanism, my left eye closed and the other observing my enemies, trying to predict their next move. As weak as my body currently was, I wasn't such a coward that I would go down without a fight.

" _Tsuna_ … you shouldn't strain your body so much when you just woke up, y'know?" _Fuck_.

I turned around, breathless, just barely standing up. I was pretty sure one of my legs had fallen asleep, and that the rest would certainly follow suit if I don't manage to stop these people. The hazy figure of a familiar swordsman came into view, wearing that shitty and ironic grin of his again, but there was that familiar gleam of sadness in his eyes, and another emotion I couldn't begin to decipher.

"Sh—Shut up," I bit back, wincing at how pathetic I sound. _What_ was happening to me? "D—Don't come any c—closer… " Even saying one full sentence was taking a toll on me and my body. I took two steps back, slouching on the wall, and when the hazy figures of the guards edged towards me, I snarled, waving the piece of glass, threatening to stab them with it.

I felt my stomach drop at the number of artilleries attached to their sides. The chances of me surviving the gunshots were zero to _none_ , never mind my artificial body - even someone like _me_ wouldn't survive a simultaneous attack all at once, especially taking in consideration the state my body was in right now.

The number of men _then_ compared to _now_ was _doubled_. And they were powerful, _very_ powerful, that much I could tell.

But, surprisingly, they didn't even lift a finger, just sending looks of utter disbelief towards their boss, who laughed and shrugged. He was grinning again.

"I'll take him back to his room myself," he said to one of his men, still smiling. "I'm pretty sure Tsuna is still unaccustomed to the fact that he's going to live with us from now on—"

I couldn't begin to comprehend what he was saying— _me_ living with _them_?

The mere thought alone was _suffocating_ and _unbearable_. And I'll _never_ let it happen. _Ever_.

 _Over my dead fucking body._

Before I knew it, I had swung the shard of glass towards him in blinded rage, thrusting it forward, but he simply dodged it, a surprised look in his laughing eyes. This time, his subordinates _did_ raise their guns, frowning severely, and I cringed at the amount of pistols pointed at me, but he just waved them off.

Still angry and slightly puzzled, I thrusted the glass, but, again, he _dodged_ it, now grinning, obviously amused, like he was playing a game. I wanted to wipe that ridiculous smile off of his face. How _dare_ he mock me.

I tried stabbing him, using any advantages I could, trying to take him by surprise, and when he just seems to grow more amused and entertained, I grew more weary and tired. _Really_ tired. _So_ tired, that I swung my hands a little too far, making me lose my balance.

When was the last time I gasped and panted for air like this?

I wobbled. He stood. "I think that's enough of that Tsuna," he whispered to me, smiling. He gestured for his men to leave, dismissing them, and like the obedient dogs that they were, they bowed and parted, leaving their boss to cater with the stubborn run-away that refused to listen.

He raised his hand and reached out towards me, but I slapped it away, albeit weakly. Too weakly. I can't even feel the nerves working in my body. "D—Don't _touch_ me... " I hissed. He paused, before his face morphed into one of surprise. And not the pleasant kind. He pulled me towards him, and this time I didn't push him away. I didn't have the strength to do so. The warmth from his skin made me want to tear his arm out of its socket. Aside from insanely strong and smiling swordsmen, I _hated_ physical contact the _most_.

"What happened to your hand Tsuna?" he exclaimed, face pale. I furrowed my eyebrows weakly, confused. _What_? My hand was fine.

"My hand is—fine... " I voiced my thoughts aloud, and he gaped at me in disbelief. What was wrong with him? It's not like my hand was mutilated or something.

"Your hand is bleeding— _shit_ , it's because of that glass isn't it?" Quickly, he slapped the hazardous piece of object away from my hand as easily as snapping his fingers, which made me protest in shock.

 _That was my only weapon_. What was I going to defend myself with now?

I was pissed. _Very_ pissed. Had I had the strength, I would have ripped his heart out then and there without any hesitation. "You—You arrogant—bastard . . ." I hated this so _much_. I can't even bring myself to insult him, since saying _anything_ was like getting punched in the stomach by a giant fist. _Twice_.

He grimaced. Only now did I notice the amount of blood gushing out from my self-inflicted wound. "Tsuna, you idiot! Can't you see the _blood_ trailing down your hand!" he yelled, referring to me in that unfamiliar name again, which worsened my headache and made me want to stab him with something sharp before _then_ stabbing myself to end my miseries. I hated puzzles, _hated_ situations where I couldn't begin to understand what the _fuck_ was going on.

Surprising the both of us, I pushed him away with my quivering arms, staggering backwards, breathing heavily, and clutched my bleeding hand. It wasn't even that damaged, his concern was unrequired. "I told you—" My jaw clenched. "— _to stay the fuck away from me_ ," I spat, threatened, noting how I cracked mid-sentence, before taking two steps backwards, waiting for his reaction.

One heartbeat passed, and then two, before an agonizing silence engulfed the excess distance between us. Suddenly, the swordsman vanished and re-appeared, startling me, and in one swift and unpredictable movement, scooped me up in his arms. How the _hell_ does this stranger _move_ so quickly? Had I been any lesser person, I would've _gaped_ at him.

" _Enough_ , Tsuna. That's _enough_ ," he commanded in a much more softer tone of voice, smiling. "It's alright now. _Sleep_."

And much like a spell, my eyelids felt heavy and faltered, and every nerve, every fraction of my body, even my will to retaliate and fight back was suddenly just. _Gone_.

 _This_ …

I lifted my chin, and looked at him, eyes twitching at the victorious, and _disgusting_ grin plastered all over his stupid face.

 _This. Fucking._

 _Bastard._

* * *

 _An empty, bleak space surrounded me, darkness stretching miles after endless miles of excessive space. Everything was blurry, unclear even, the lack of lighting made it hard to see anything at all. I wasn't stark naked, but everything was cold, and I felt weak, and tired._

 _Why was I always tired?_

 _Everything hurts, every joint, every bone, felt like it'd been stabbed and sawed off. The ground beneath me was cold to the touch, but hot, like ice and fire mixed together._

 _Then, suddenly, the scene shifted, and there was just_ red _._

 _The indicative, ever allusive_ red _._

 _And then, bodies._

 _Piles after endless piles of bodies._

 _Now, I was standing in the middle of what seemed like a bloodbath. Everything was red, but not beautiful, no, but destructive, confusing. I didn't feel joyous, didn't feel the satisfaction of having spilled those beautiful drops of crystallized rubies with my own two hands. Didn't feel the tremor and anticipation of finding out that I was the one who caused it._

 _I looked down. And I instantly knew why. Differed why this situation felt so diverse compared to the last time I reined my wrath on those degenerates._

 _The bodies of children._

 _Piles after endless piles of dead children._

 _They clawed beneath me, cajoling,_ begging _. Small mouths twisted and screwed into a big hole, screaming, but I didn't hear anything; perhaps I was deaf. Or dead. They were bathed in blood, red,_ rubies _, but for the first time, the metallic stench made me falter back, disgusted. For the first time, I wanted to push both my hands and up my nostrils to prevent myself from gagging. The smell—it was_ revolting _._

 _They tugged my legs, pulling me down the ground, deeper and deeper, all the while howling in despair, where I rightfully belonged._

 _Maybe these children served as a reminder of how much of a monster I was; an abomination that should never have existed. Human embodiments of my sins, my transgressions. To return back to the soil and forever be forgotten, to crumble into nothing but dust and dirt, a mistake, a_ hiccup _, in history, to serve as nothing but a warning to humanity of what dangers happen when they cross their boundaries, try to exceed their limitations, to leave behind their sanity to continue a life of immorality._

 _One child bit me, and I felt the pain like the sudden jolt of electricity. Their fingers didn't tug me anymore; they were now forcefully pulling me down, clenching their tiny fists so tightly around my legs that I was sure that they'd end up tearing my limbs away from me at some point._

" _Santuario!" the child cried, pulling one of his eyes out, the nerves, too, were dragged from his brain, and a gaping hole looked back at him, and his face was etched in a mixture of ecstasy and pain. He flashed a smile at me, offering his damaged eye._

" _Santuario! Santuario!" they chanted, all proceeding to mutilate and dissect themselves, which made my eyes round with disbelief: biting their left arm, tearing an eye out, dissecting, slicing themselves, at one point, biting each other, all the while looking up at me, yelling, "Santuario! Santuario!" Wailing, clawing at me. They weren't even recognizable anymore; just mutilated body parts._

" _Santuario!" they cried._

" _Dallo a noi!" another one wailed._

" _Santuario, dollo a noi!" they all chanted in sync, and they proceeded to drag me down, crying, repeating the same words over, and over again, like an unbreakable record: "Dallo a noi; santuario! Santuario! Santuario!"_

" _Stop… " I hissed, unable to take any more of this. They wailed louder, their expression growing more pained, more angry. They became violent, now tearing off their organs and offering_ that _to me. The sight of the blood would have normally filled me with euphoria, but now it just made my stomach clench and unclench tightly with disgust._

" _Santuario!" they pleaded, voices set in a hysterical wail. "Dollo a noi!" They were growing more aggressive, more forceful. Their mouth continued to repeat the same phrases._

 _I broke free from their strong clutches, and they jerked back, astounded, before releasing a horrific yell, before crawling after me at such high speed that was humanly_ impossible _, yelling the same words, but in a deeper set of voice now; it was terrifying. It wasn't pleas for help anymore, for safety, but rather, satanic chanting, they were looking at me with a type of fierceness I've never before witnessed in my entire life._

" _Santuario… " they trailed, mouths opened so wide it could've easily swallowed my entire arm, eyes so bloodshot and empty that it was demonic. "Santuario… Dollo a noi… Dollo a noi… " there were echoes in their chanting, almost as if the entire empty space around me agreed with them, and wanted to repeat the same sentiments over and over and over…_

 _And then, a dead end. Red. Red._ Red _._

 _I stopped running, and red slowly engulfed me, covering me, filling me up like a child coloring a piece of paper. What was the point anymore? What was the use of trying to escape something that's already been done… from something unescapable…_

 _Strong, and disparaging arms twirled me around, and the face looking back at me felt like something entirely out of a nightmare._

 _Tissues, muscles, flesh… it was twisted, bending at all the wrong angles, concaving inside. Some bones poked out,_ crushed _, as though even that, was going to collapse at any minute, and the smell of decaying flesh was difficult to overlook. Hands that were unrecognizable and torn… fractured skulls and bones…_

 _Such was the work of mankind._

" _Santuario…" the thousands of faces whispered, and I saw a bit of_ sadness _in there too. So difficult to decipher, to know what was going through these tortured souls minds, to be doomed and condemned to forever beg for something unachievable. Despite their mutilated and inhuman form, they still seek for safety… for sanctuary…_

 _But then their mouths opened again. "Dollo a noi!" they howled, screeching even, shaking me, tugging my soul. "_ Dollo a noi _! Dollo a noi!_ Dollo a noi _! Santurio!_ Santuario _! Dollo a—"_

"—noi," I whispered.

My eyes fluttered open. I sat upright, and winced, noticing that the headache was still there; just milder, less intense somehow. It was nothing more than a slight throb at the back of my head.

It took me but of a second later to realize that I was breathing unevenly and that my breaths came in short, erratical gasps. Hastily, I breathed in and out, trying to calm myself down, to reassure myself that I was alright, that none of it was real, that it was all just an image—a sick, _sick_ twisted image, conjured up by my brain. I'm alright now. I anchored myself with everything that I could see—books, shelves, tables, solid things, _anything_ , to assure myself that I wasn't trapped anymore within the boundaries of my own reality. _I was fine_. It was just a nightmare.

But even as I thought of this, even as I try to assure myself, my heart continued to rattle at an abnormally fast state, knowing that my own words weren't quite true…

Because that _wasn't_ just a dream. It _had_ happened. I had _seen_ it before.

Not quite as horrific perhaps… not quite as gory and as bloody maybe, but the truth remains that it _had_ happened. The children who I had failed to save, who I failed in general, crying out to me, _begging_ me to go back, to go back and save them, to retrieve their restless souls, to give them a sense of _peace_. Wailing for sanctuary, begging for it… It had happened.

And the truth was… it was _never_ going to stop haunting me. It follows me everywhere, like a shadow, or a dark, foreboding cloud that refuses to go away, or the constant nagging feeling at the back of my head, or a piece of scrap at the edge of my foot. It was _always_ going to remain there. _Reminding me_. _Taunting me_. Of _that_ place, of _santuario_. Of my sins, of my inner demons…

Of myself.

I stood up, the blanket falling off of me again, abandoned on the expensive floor, and walked towards the exit, expecting it to be locked, but, surprisingly enough, it was open, and it moved forward with a small creak.

I didn't hesitate.

I left the room and quietly slipped back into the shadows.


End file.
